Save Blackfrost
by SamariumAndAntiMatter
Summary: A series of Blackfrost one shots based on songs from the Fall Out Boy album, Save Rock and Roll. Rated M because assassin and my mind is a gutter at one in the morning.
1. The Mighty Fall

**This is my first ever published fanfic, so please don't crucify me, hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned marvel, avengers, or fall out boy, I would NOT have a wardrobe which came mainly from the charity shop.**

The Mighty Fall

_How_ _the_ _mighty_ _fall, the mighty fall, the mighty fall..._

He had been great once, standing atop a building, watching as an army, his army, poured into the streets of Manhattan. And those foolish mortals and his idiotic 'brother' fighting them. The beast, the tin man, the supposed god, the patriot, his former servant the archer, and the spider. He surveyed the scene around him in that moment, watching them as they fought his mighty army. The spider caught his attention. Such bravery and strength, for a midgardian woman, anyway. He thought back to that day on their flying base, of how she had tricked him, the trickster, master of lies and deceit. A match worthy of his talents. The thought brought a smirk to his lips. Perhaps, he would let her live, keep her around as an amusement, a toy for the king. She was certainly pretty enough, and a warrior too, but very different to that shield-maiden back home. She would make a perfect pet. He could slowly break her with the deaths of her friends, those Avengers that she held so dear, despite having a supposed heart of ice. But her hair betrayed her: the colour of fire, hot burning passion, emotion making her decisions for her, just like any other woman. Spiders make great pets, but she would be the greatest. Shame about her lifespan. He was far from immortal, but her life was still so short compared to his, it would hardly be worth all that trouble for a few decades, maybe longer, if her precious hawk was to be believed.

Later, as Thor led him to central park, a muzzle binding his silver tongue, cuffs his magic, he thought back to the moment, and thought that if he hadn't spent so much time thinking about her, his attempt to rule would have succeeded, and he would not have fallen so far from a king to a lowly prisoner.

It was only much later, when he had been left in his cell below Asgard that he thought again back to that day, unable to stop thoughts of the spider creeping into his mind, that he realised he hadn't fallen that day, he had already fallen, he had fallen the moment he saw her in the base, standing there, unafraid. Only then did he realise that he, the mightiest almost-ruler that Midgard had ever seen, had fallen into a spiders web. And he found that it didn't bother him as much as he had thought it would. He didn't mind at all.

_...oh how the mighty fall in love._

Finite.


	2. Miss Missing You

**Thank you so much for the follow, didn't expect that so quickly.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned the Avengers, Marvel, or Fall Put Boy, I would own a Library, not a picture of one tacked on my bedroom wall.**

**AU based on Miss Missing You. What if Loki saved her from the red room. Listen to the song to understand.**

Miss Missing You

She was running. Behind her, she could hear heavy foot steps and calls.

"Halt," they said, "halt." But she didn't, she couldn't. If she stopped, they would catch her, find her weapons, know who she was. She couldn't act like a scared little girl if they found the weapons, the evidence. Suddenly, there was a flash, a stream of light coming down from the clouds. Shouts of terror and panic came from the men, followed by sounds of gunfire. Then, deathly quiet fell on the alley, a chill filling the previous humid air. She stopped. Every instinct she had was yelling, screaming at her to run, to get away, but a small voice, somewhere buried deep in the back of her mind, told her to stay, to turn around, to look. And so, she did. On the floor, lay the bodies of the guards, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, necks clearly snapped, blood staining the gutter red. Bullet holes riddled the side of the alley. But that was not what has caught her attention, no. What caught her attention was the man standing in the middle of it all, milky skin reflecting the street lamps, though he hadn't broken a sweat, raven hair neatly slicked back, and piercing emerald eyes, fixed on her. The man wore an odd array of green cloth, black leather and gold armour, a long green cloak flowing from his shoulders, sweeping the ground. He started walking towards her, every fibre of her being told her to run, not even the little voice protesting, but she was rooted to the spot, her feet stuck fast. She couldn't move.

"What is a little midgardian girl doing running from men like that?" He asked, sneering at her, "well, aren't you going to bow down to a god?" He was standing over her now, looking down at her.

"I don't bow to anyone, least of all things that don't exist," the words came out before she could stop them, but she looked back up at him defiance on her face, anger in her eyes, not betraying what she felt inside. He cocked his eyebrow at her, one edge of his lips quirking upwards into an infuriating smirk.

"Spirited. Well, if I don't exist, then I didn't really save you. Goodbye." Then, with another flash of light, he was gone, leaving an astonished thirteen year old in his wake. She was stunned for a moment, before her instincts licked in, and she dashed off again, red curls trailing behind her.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Over the next few years she thought often of the mystery man who saved her. Her trainers had wiped all her other memories of that mission, but they did not know about him, and they could not erase that which they did not know existed, and so his memory remained, their first meeting becoming a crack in the wall of lies that her trainers had her believing, the first fault in her blind dedication to her masters. His memory gave her reason to doubt the memories implanted in her head, doubt that she really was a ballerina. Him, and the bodies surrounding him. He gave her a way to see the truth, rather than ironically, she came to think. The most mysterious person she had ever met was the one who cleared away the confusion, cleared a path through the fog in her mind so that she could see the truth, or part of it any way. She almost wished he would come back and clear away more of the fog. It was as though she missed him, in her own, twisted way. But she missed him none the less. Though she wasn't entirely sure why.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

She was seventeen when she next saw him. The snow was falling thick and fast outside, but the elite of London couldn't care less, for tonight, they had a ball to attend. Natalia looked right at home there, her beautiful dress an emerald green, fitting her perfectly, fitted around her torso and bust, flaring out ever so slightly from her hips in a popular style, accentuating all of her curves, the soft material of the skirt flowing around her legs, not quite brushing the floor. Her make-up was discrete yet flawless, highlighting her full, plump lips, bringing out the slight green tones in her clear, blue eyes, her porcelain skin seeming to glow. Red curls framed her face, curled into an elegant chignon at the base of her neck.

She was wondering the room, a champagne flute balanced in her hand, blending in perfectly with the crowd. Her mark had yet to arrive, so she was just perusing the room until he did, making sure so drink enough to make it seem like she was just there like anyone else, but little enough that her senses were not impaired, when she felt someone come up behind her, warm breath tickling her neck, the cold barrel of a gun pressing against her side, chilling her skin as it is jabbed into her side. Her mark has arrived. The man behind her - she can feel its a man from the chest pressed lightly against her shoulder and the large hand spread across the small of her back - steers her towards a darkened corner at the back of the room, and a small staircase cast in shadows, nigh on invisible to the casual observer.

When they reach the top of the staircase, the man leans across her to open a small, carved wooden door, before pushing her through, and shutting it behind her. The room in front of her was a small study, the only light coming from a roaring fire, blazing in a plain fireplace off to her right. Once her eyes adjust to the darkness, she glances around the room, taking in the mahogany desk, the blackened coal scuttle, and, finally, the man sitting behind the desk: her mark.

"Well, well well, what do we have here," his voice purred, as he eyed her like a pretor might eye his chosen pray, "the infamous Black Widow, come to pay a visit on dear old me." There was a slight rustle behind her, but before she could turn, she felt a needle slide into the side of her neck. Then, she heard another man enter the room.

"Very good Jones, I shall reward you justly." The voice sounded familiar, but before it could register properly, her mark, Jones, screamed in terror, before a deathly silence entered the room, the only sound was her breathing, and that of someone else. She turned around, a little unsteady in her feet as a black mist started to creep into her vision. She found her self looking into familiar emerald orbs, which matched her dress, set into milk-white skin, black hair slicked back. There was a flicker of recognition in those emerald orbs, her brain finally connecting dots in the moment before she slipped into unconsciousness. In was him, mystery man from the alley all those years ago. Then, her world went black.

When she woke up, the first thing that registered on her mind was that she had no idea where she was. She could feel a rope around wrists. She almost laughed at that: she could get out so easily it almost deserved her laugh. The next thought, was to acknowledge the presence in the room with her. She opened her eyes, and looked across the room. He was sitting there, the man from the alley. He turned, and looked her in the eye.

"Still getting in trouble for others I see," a note of disappointment evident in his voice, "i had hoped you would make chaos of your own volition after that incident, but you appear to not see clearly enough." He flicked his wrist at me, green sparks coming out of his hand. Suddenly, I felt a fog lift fro. My thoughts, and, suddenly, she could see everything. She was a murderer, an assassin, working for those who stole her mind. She had to get out, she had to take them out. She had to be free.

"I will provide you with the means to be your own chaos, not someone else's." His voice surprised her, startling her from her thoughts. "Yes, I know you want to escape, but I did not expect you to be so hesitant," he paused a moment, seemingly debating in his head, "you could come with me if you wish, live in luxury for the rest of your life, but you would miss all of the excitement of life here. A life with me would be too boring I think, so I will just leave you with provisions." With that, he walked over to her, a d pressed his lips to hers. His lips were surprisingly soft. This was far from her first kiss, but it was by far her best. Within a few moments it was over. He reached an arm around her, pulling her bindings undone, before stepping back, and disappearing in a flash of light, just as he had the first time. Once he was gone, she made a vow never go back to the red room again.

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Over the next year she worked hard, taking down the members of the red room one by one. When they were all dead and buried, she started taking freelance work, a killer for hire. Occasionally, she would allow herself to dream, to think of what could have been, and she would always think of him. She would allow herself to dream of what-ifs, of a place where they were ordinary people, who fell in love in an ordinary way, with ordinary problems, and they got an ordinary house, with a picket fence. She knew it would never happen, could never happen, that they weren't those people, and never would be. That didn't stop her from dreaming though. Didn't stop her from missing him. She didn't even know his name.

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Her dreaming came to an end, on a cold night. She would never know why she decided to get drunk, that night in Budapest, or exactly how she ended up in an alley, inebriated, an archer standing in front of her, an arrow pointed at her heart, not a foot away from her body. She wished, in that moment when she thought that she was going to die, that he was there, to save her as he had done before. Then, the archer reached forward, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a new life.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Over the next eight years, she worked along side the archer who saved her, Agent Barton, as she later found out. Then he became Barton, then Clint. She still thought of her mystery man, but he was no longer the only person she thought of, the only one she trusted, the only one she would take a bullet for.

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When Phil told her that Clint had been compromised, she got there as quickly as she could. When she got to Germany, she recognised him instantly. The man from the alley was behind it. Her picket fence. She wished, then, that she could just forget him, stop feeling the way she did about him, Loki. She knew his name now now they were enemies instead of whatever they had been before. She used to think that she would take a bullet for him, but know he was the one pulling the trigger, shattering her heart into tiny pieces. When she faced him in the helicarrier, she realised that she was not the only one who was broken, not the only one whose hopes had been set ablaze. When she fought in the battle of New York, alongside Clint, she found herself thinking it was just like Budapest, and, for her, it was, being with Clint, but wishing Loki was there, fighting her corner. After he had gone to Asgard with Thor, she found she felt like there was something missing. Not him, so much as how she had missed him, after all, shed had missed him for more than half her life. She missed missing him.

Finite.


	3. The Phoenix

**Third chapter already, hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I'm british, why would I make everyone American? Fall Out Bou also not mine.**

**AU based on The Phoenix, set during and post CA:TWS, so spoilers. Enjoy.**

The Phoenix

He was walking along the street when it happened, when the triskelion went down, when the soldier when from the sky, when S.H.I.E.L.D. went online. He read everything, the ledger she had tried so hard to keep from him. There were parts he knew, of course, from his time looking at the archer's mind, but there were parts he doubted even the archer knew about. Since he had 'died', he had been spending short periods of time on Midgard, leaving an illusion on the throne, leaving him to follow her, watch her. He wasn't quite sure why he did that, but he had an inkling. He wanted to see someone else who had inherited misery from those around her. He would see how she tried to clean a little bit of red from her ledger, taking down maniacs, trying to save the world. She had surrendered any hopes of a fairytale, of love, for herself a long time ago. Now that all of her secrets were on display for the world to see, she would need a new cover, before her time ran out, before there was nothing left for him to do. He wanted to go in, change her, re-mix her, as the midgardians would say. Then he would raise her up, a light in the darkness. Hope from the ashes of a world burnt. But she had saved the world, put out the fire, she didn't need him.

He saw her coming out of a hearing, at least he thinks that is what they are called, and he couldn't help it. He stopped her. Much to his surprise, she didn't alert anyone of his existence. She didn't protest when he slipped her a note saying "you broke our spirit", along with a date, time and address.

Days later, he saw her meet with the soldier and the pirate in a graveyard not all that far from the smouldering remains of the triskelion. He listened as she said how she would need a new identity.

Hours after that, he met her in a small café, tucked away in a back street of New York. She looked him in the eye, her silver-blue eyes boring into his sole, and agreed to go with him, to be with him. She leaned across the table, and captured his lips with hers. He was stunned for a moment, before reacting, kissing her back. They came to the café on an uneasy treaty, and left hand in hand, with a promise of becoming closer than her and the hawk. For the first time in almost two years, he smiled. He really smiled. She had agreed to be his phoenix after all.

Finite.


	4. Just One Yesterday

**Slash. Lots of Slash. Not Annab appropriate. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Just One Yesterday

They had taken Loki in hours earlier. New York, a busy city she had come to love, now lay in ruins. Part of Manhattan did, at least. And it was all his fault. She was sat on her bed, swigging from a bottle of Smirnoff. Not as good as some, but far from the worst. She gradually felt her limbs start to tingle with inebriation as she drank more and more, recounting what they had done, he had done, earlier that day. When she couldn't take it any more, she stormed out of her bunk, agents scurrying out of her way as she fumed, her feet carrying her down to the detention level, then along to his cell. After entering the code she knew was needed to make the door open, as well as the one to make this meeting off the record and to erase any evidence of this meeting, she slammed the door open with such force that the prisoner in the middle of the room startled slightly, turning his head to look at her. There was no glass between them now, and a metal mask binding his silver tongue.

"What,no clever words? No lies, no tricks?" She taunted. He just glared at her. "You know, I actually think I preferred you when you could talk." She walked across the room, slower than she normally would have in order to conceal her drunken state. She reached around him, and unfastened his cuffs first, before moving her hands upwards and releasing his collar. As soon as the lock sprang apart, he pounced, far faster and more agile than anyone should be after being a hulk toy. When he smelt her breath, he smirked at the scent of alcohol on it. Then, he leaned down, bringing his mouth to close to her ear.

"Now, my dear, maybe we should get to why you really came down here and released me. What you were longing for that day on the helicarrier, but were too proud to acknowledge. That you want to see whether I really am a god among men, and i can assure you, my dear, that I am." He pressed his body against hers, so she could feel the size of the swelling, even beneath his battle armour. She could feel herself grow warmer with anticipation, as he lowered his head further, and nibbled on the secret spot behind her ear. As intoxicated and turned on as she was, she was in no position to protest.

"Fuck me," she hissed. He turned his head to look at her, barring his teeth in a ferrel grin.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you?" He replied smoothly, sliding his hand over her breast, before dipping it gently inside her uniform and fumbling with its tip.

"Fuck me," she moaned, becoming more desperate as he started to handle her breast more roughly.

"Say my name," was his smooth reply, before he lowered head to her neck once again. She knew she shouldn't, but she had already played with the devil. What was an Asgardian by comparison.

"Fuck me, Loki," she moaned, slightly loader than last time.

"Very good my dear." He removed his hand from her breast and waved it in the air. Their clothes instantly vanished, and reappeared in a neat pile in the other side of the cell. Looking down, she realised why she had been able to feel him through the armour. He was massive. He teased her entrance with his tip, before plunging deep inside her, her hips bucking against his as she threw her head back and moaned his name.

"Loki..." He growled in response, becoming faster and faster. After what felt like hours, but was really only moments, she felt her body vibrate, as waves of pleasure went through her body, just as he emptied his seed into her. Between the battle, the bottle and her orgasm, Natasha felt exhausted, and slumped against him. They lay there for a while, catching their breaths. Then, they got up, in almost synchronised movements, and put their clothes back on. Then, he let her slide back on his cuffs and the mask, before she slipped out of the cell and up to her room, and fell asleep, never wanting ti forget how good that was.

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The next day, they took him and Thor to the park. As Natasha looked at the god, she remembered the day before. She would change everyone'e opinions of him of they knew about that, their opinions if her too. They were both demons inside, having killed angels for the fun of it. She might have done it for others, and him for power, but both did it for pleasure. She leaned over to Clint, and whispered something horrible about Loki that she knew would make him feel better, as they watched the gods leave. As she was walking away she realised. What she wouldn't give for one more yesterday. Yesterday evening, at any rate.

Finite.


	5. Death Valley

Death Valley

Since his 'death', Loki had been taking increasingly frequent trips sown to Midgard as his reign as Odin solidified. At first, he had started watching people, trying to see how he could, why he should, wipe his ledger clean in a world painted red.

It didn't take long for him to start following the earth-bound members of the Avengers, seeing, watching, how they justified their crimes against the good they did. He quickly became bored, and began to seek out the parts of the earth where the only colour was blood red, soaking through everything, drowning out all colour other than red.

Soon, he began to see her wherever he went, scarlet hair standing out amongst the ruby blood she waded through. She would dress up like royalty, yet would never be a member of the elite, as tainted as she was. She would undress slowly to impress the men she hunted, the villains and the monsters, before quickly dispatching them with an almost unnatural ease. It amazed him how her skin could remain so pure and white, when she had so much dirt, so much filth underneath her skin, a bifrost of red which he so desperately wished to see. He would see how she poured a few drops more in, whilst cleaning another spot.

Not long after, he started seeking her out, sightings became no longer happenstance, but certainty. Slowly, he began to understand how she lived with her ledger, how she could bear to take one step forward, and two steps back. She didn't he watched her fitful sleep, never completely switching off, eternally alert, paranoid, haunted. He would see her standing surrounded by death, joining him in the blood bath of their lives, the low point if the valley called death. They were alive, but soon, too soon, he would be left alone, wasting away for another couple of millennia before joining her in Helheim. They were the only two in the valley, and he wouldn't discount the idea of being something more than enemies, but that is all.

Finite.


End file.
